


Werewolf of West Eden

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Falling In Love, Funny, M/M, Multi, Scary, Smutty, Supernatural Elements, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Johnny Werewolf, full moons, sexy Sherlock, a fictitious town, dark secrets, grisly murders, smut and fluff
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 14





	1. Moving to the Countryside

**Prologue**

_It can all change in the space and time of a single day!_

That was what my nana often said when we were kids. That would be me, my sister Eurus and our youngest sibling Sherlock. By virtue of being the oldest of the lot, five years older than Eurus and eight years older than Sherlock, I believed in these stories the least.

Until that time of our lives arrived where our mundane city life changed completely and we moved in the great countryside, to a nice posh and picturesque little town named West Eden. Us would be mummy, daddy, me, Eurus and Sherlock, along with our family dog Redbeard. It was the autumn of the year 2010 and I was thirty, finally at that point of my life where I was not only financially independent but also ready to start a family with my boyfriend James Moriarty. James had moved to West Eden six months ago, working as the chief research officer at the huge ‘Space Research Institute’ located in this town, therefore it was an added incentive for me to move there too. Eurus was twenty-five and engaged to an American chemical engineer who was on a three month deputation to UAE. She was staying with us for the time being. Sherlock was twenty-two and had graduated the previous year, about three years earlier than most post-grad students from Cambridge. He was well on his way to complete his thesis on forensic science. A genius just like the rest of us, he was also insular, somewhat sociopathic but at the same time a fragile and beautiful young man that couldn’t be trusted to be on his own. Therefore, _despite his age_ , he hadn’t moved out yet.

_Oh and did I mention my James is a genius too? Sherlock’s age and already in a two hundred thousand a year job, chief research analyst and officer, not bad at all. But I digress….._

We had moved from London (thought we retained the rather expensive semi-detached home in posh South Kensington) for three reasons. Dad had just retired and returned from Switzerland and the city’s polluted air worsened his asthma. Mummy wanted to stay closer to her sister Monique and her husband Graham. Our grand uncle Stoddart Holmes, a born again bachelor who looked at daddy as his son and us as his grand kids, had passed away at ninety-five and left a substantial amount of wealth and assets for us. One of them was this grandiose stately home and the other was a two hundred and fifty acre area of orchards and a factory next to it that created and packed a range of gourmet jellies, jams, wine, fruit juice and candied peels from the fresh produce.

That day, as we reached the town, the happy smiles on the faces of my family members made me wonder if we were entering the best phase of our lives. Eurus would enjoy a nice stay with all of us before she left to manage her own household, daddy would be with us all the time and not travel half the year, mummy would be happy with her sister and the Ladies and Gentlemen club and its activities, the church and community, _I would marry James soon and Sherlock…._ Well, he would finish his thesis and probably be the first one to leave again. He was always a city boy. _Little did we know that our dreams would come for a price and that our happy country life would start with a severe, dark nightmare._

**Chapter 1**

_“I don’t like it here.”_

Sherlock was standing in the conservatory on the left wing of the large mansion, a beautiful glass structure with a glass roof and pure glass on three sides. There was a herb garden, several sweet smelling flowers and utilitarian plants like aloe-vera. On one corner was a seating arrangement for up to eight people, for breakfast. The hour was 4-30 pm so some really flavorful Darjeeling Lopchu Golden Orange Pekoe tea had been served and snacks were laid out on the table beside it, sandwiches, scones etc. But the youngest sibling had no eyes or appetite for any of it. He simply harked out morosely into their spacious garden, beyond which was the twelve-foot wall and beyond that the orchards they owned. Eurus looked at Mycroft and rolled her eyes with a ‘I know, right?’ kind of smile. Mycroft frowned but didn’t say anything immediately. When his sister looked at him again and insisted that he take the brat to task, he simply mouthed ‘Ignore’.

“Guys, hey…..oh you’re having some high tea here!” Eugenia Holmes entered the conservatory with three people in tow, all three wearing decent clothes and looking pretty nervous. Mycroft and Eurus exchanged looks, same thought playing on their minds. _No, this isn’t real is it, servants???_ Sherlock looked disgusted. “Let me introduce you to our domestic support system,” Eugenia announced, “This is head housekeeper Agnes. This is Ewan, her husband and also our groundskeeper, plumber and electrician. And that is Katie, she is our cook and apparently she can do some magic with food. Agnes, Ewan, Katie, meet my children…oh well, they’re grown up so meet my grown up kids, Mycroft, Eurus and that grumpy one over there is Sherlock.”

“Hello sir, ma’am.”

“Hello there, pleased to meet you.”

“Good evening. Hope you’re doing well.”

“Call us by our names please,” Sherlock suddenly turned around and snapped, “This is the _twenty-first_ century, not the _eighteenth_. Typically we should not even….”

“Sherlock _enough_ ,” Reginald stepped in, frowning.

Eurus and Mycroft warmly greeted the retainers while Sherlock stormed out of there. Eurus was about to chase after him when her father stopped her. “No need. He will be back when he needs something, like dinner? He has always been like that, so leave it. Just ignore.”

“Just as I said,” Mycroft said as he coolly sipped his tea.

“Whatever,” Eurus mumbled and picked up a cheese sandwich.

When the retainers left, Eugenia poured some tea for herself and picked up a scone, “Sherlock always has to be the odd one out. Remember, whenever we did some family vacations he would sulk the moment the rest of us agreed on a destination? Or the Christmas lunch menu, when everybody would be in sync he would come up with a request for a change. We should have allowed him to stay in his flat at Baker Street, London. It’s a small one, just two bedrooms and only seven hundred and fifty square feet, but it’s enough for him I suppose. He could have been self-sufficient, he doesn’t need to be here, all sulky, dour and snapping at people at the drop of a hat.”

“Yeah?” Mycroft seemed amused, “Mummy, when he stays there you still visit him and bring back his laundry. Eurus cooks over the weekend and sends him packed meals. I have gone over and fixed his kitchen faucet or shower head and dad always drops by to drop some milk and groceries. That is _hardly_ called ‘self-sufficient’ huh?”

“Oh leave him alone and let’s enjoy this afternoon,” Reginald said jovially, buttering a scone, “Whatever he is, admit it he’s the darling of the family. He can get away with murder if he wishes to, all he will need to do is smile or make that puppy face. Relax, he will change his mind as soon as he realizes we have some nice plans for him…..for example that tree house. Then, as he finds some friends around these parts and realizes how convenient it is for him to visit his mentor, the professor who’s assisting him with his thesis and lives close by, he will surely change his opinion and actually start enjoying his life here. As for London, it’s only an hour by train and an hour and half by car. The Baker Street flat is in his name, _he can go back anytime.”_

***

Sherlock was both glad and sad about the house they had, Grandpa Stoddart’s house or ‘Glenn Manor’ as they called it. The house was not exactly in the heart of the town; in fact it was in the fringes and nearly half a mile away from the highway that connected the suburbia to the township. Thanks to the expansive orchards and the factory they owned, their house was quite isolated from the other properties built along or a little way off the highway.

There was a cottage opposite to their property, occupied by a lady named Mrs. Martha Louise Hudson. There was also an Edwardian style detached home right next to the lake behind their manor, where a family lived. It was a local doctor named Mike Stamford, his wife and two kids.

Long used to crowded streets, the din and bustle of city life and the forever twinkling lights of a metropolitan area, Sherlock found the place very disconcerting and boring. He had walked out of the property and was strolling by the lake, having easily covered a mile on his bicycle and then half a mile on foot, and he hadn’t met anyone aside from a tramp who lived in the woods by the lake. He was walking across the bridge on the lake, whistling and obviously drunk.

Not that Sherlock didn’t like this place at all. It was the perfect weekend getaway, a summer holiday home or a place where one could come over for a week with friends and have fun without having to bother about neighbors complaining about the noise.

But to _live here_ , God that was _something else!_

With a population of around seven and half thousand, West Eden was known for its huge Space Research Center, a leading Culinary College and a huge Cathedral built during the time of King James I, a tourist spot for all those who visited UK and dropped by on a day-long visit to this _pretty, picturesque town_. They visited the culinary museum of the college, the visitor’s area of the space institute and the Cathedral, then had some famous fish and chicken fare the town was popular for and departed for London in the evening! But that was not all that West Eden was known for! The lake beside the town was also huge, as was the wide, gushing brook that fed it, and many anglers came by for the weekends and filled the inns and Airbnb’s, returning home on Monday mornings with fresh and plentiful catch.

Sherlock rested his bicycle against a tree and looked around himself. It was past five and since the month was November, the days were getting shorter. It was twilight already and darkness would descend in another half hour or forty-five minutes.

He had crossed the woods, gone past the ‘Peace Hill’ where the town cemetery stood and was now standing before a rather quaint-looking church with an equally pretty and landscaped grounds. It was not a very big church, probably could accommodate not more than a hundred to hundred and twenty parishioners, but something about the place made him _stop and stare_ at the building.

“Hello!”

_Sherlock looked to his right and his life changed forever._

A priest was standing there, very young and attractive, with sandy blond hair and light brown twinkling eyes, a kindly and friendly smile and an aura that simply oozed sensuality. Even as he stood there in his robes and just smiled at him in a detached way, Sherlock could feel _sparks flying_ between them and a warmth spread in his chest as well as his groin.

“Hell…Hoo…Ha….Hi…..I mean hi, hello,” he stuttered, cursing himself for sounding so stupid.

The priest laughed, “I never thought I make people so nervous.”

“Fat…Fath…I mean…Father, the cross at the steeple…up there, it’s tilted to the right.”

“Oh, is it? Why yes it is. Well spotted. We need to _correct_ it then. Will you help me?”

“ME?” Sherlock pointed at his own chest. _Shit, shit, who else is there. Why am I behaving like a bungling fool? What is wrong with me? He is just a priest for Christ’s sake….okay there is a pun hidden there._

The priest looked around and grinned, obviously noticing Sherlock’s discomfiture and the fumbling and mumbling. “Yes you, there aren’t any other people around here is it?” His tone was jocular, “You just need to hold the ladder, that’s it. Game?”

Sherlock saw a long ladder being thrust towards him and he helped the priest rest it against the side of the church. Then he held it steady and watched with agape eyes as the other man, despite his robes and the darkness spreading fast around them, made it right up to the top with amazing agility and swiftness. He could be an athlete, a gymnast to be precise, to have made it up there in less than a minute, Sherlock wondered. In no time the other man had fixed the position of the cross and shouted down from the height of nearly fifty feet, “Does this seem _okay now_?” Sherlock looked closer, tilted his head to the left and right and then said, “Yes, it seems so Father.”

The priest came down as speedily as he had climbed, said a smiley ‘thanks’ to him and then gave him a curious look. “Did you call me _father?”_

“Yeah, erm….is that okay?”

“Of course it is. But I am, what they call….a progressive priest for the millennials. You can call me by my name when we’re alone….and use that ‘Father’ when you’re with other parishioners. Oh by the way, will you be attending the Sunday service? It’s Thursday today so it’s only three days away. You _new_ here?”

“New yes, attend _don’t know_ ,” Sherlock fumbled with his words once again, then took a few deep breaths and sat down heavily on the bench in the church foregrounds. The other man, though a few inches shorter than him, had a towering presence and a magnetic personality. He overwhelmed Sherlock as much with his presence as he did with those caramel brown eyes and that dazzling smile.

“Do you have a stammer? A _speech problem?”_

“Huh? _No!”_

“We do treat people with speech problems, insomnia, dyspraxia, PTSD and domestic violence. A team of therapists and counselors do this for free, as a contribution to the community.”

“I-I see….but no, I do not have that problem. I have….sincerely I have no clue what’s happened to me. Maybe it’s just you.”

_“I am John,”_ said the priest, extending his hand for a shake.


	2. Howling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The killings start

“Hey chief, how is it going?”

“Jim,” Greg Lestrade tipped his hat in a mostly dramatic manner, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he greeted the young genius outside the pub, “Look who decided to come out of the lab and into the land of the _living and drinking!”_

James Moriarty was the sort of man who would make heads turn and stop traffic, despite not being the paragon of all virtues or beauty. He was a bit too thin, medium height at the best, his widow’s peak was a bit too pronounced and he could be downright short-tempered and fly off the handle at the drop of the hat. Still people wanted to know him, date him, be around him. Because, when Jim decided to deliver even the bigwigs in the government and the senior-most scientists across the world sat up, listened and acknowledged his genius. His presence was big, his aura almost overwhelmingly sexy and his wits and his razor sharp wits were matched ably by his disarming smile and deep dark brown eyes. They said he had killed a man in road rage when he was fourteen and beat a class bully to a pulp when he was only seven. At twenty one he had hacked into the Bank of England just for fun.

“Decided to stop dating the telescope now that my _beau is here_ ,” Jim seemed unusually relaxed and happy.

“Mycroft?”

“Yeah, there he is!”

“Oh, how are you Holmes?”

“Call me Mycroft, please. _Greg Lestrade_ , right?”

“Yes, very much sir. Barrister Mycroft Holmes, the one who won that case….”

Mycroft offered a polite smile, “Oh that was nothing.” But Greg was not having any of it. “You are THE Mycroft after all; you have never lost a case, at thirty you represent the Prime Minister’s legal counsel, you have won some high profile cases that were sure to see the verdict being given the other way. I am honored to be in your presence, sir.”

“It’s okay,” Jim shrugged and giggled, “He is a bit of an exaggerator!”

Mycroft began to laugh and Greg, taken aback, looked from one man to the other. “Hey, don’t mind him,” said the elder Holmes sibling, “His jokes can be roguish and his sense of humor razor sharp. It cuts right through you at times. But then that’s my Jimmy! _Sharp and clever.”_

“Well, see you soon Jim, Mycroft,” Greg Lestrade said as his deputies Sally Donovan and Phil Andersen came up with cups of coffee, to join him on their night shift, “We better get going now. Keep an eye on the town and townsfolk.”

Mycroft seemed a bit perplexed, “You are doing _a night shift_ Greg?”

“Not the entire night but will be with these guys until 1:30 am,” replied the inspector, now and then stealing glances at Mycroft through the corner of his eye, “Which is another hour and half or so. We are not a huge team here, just twenty people at the station, besides me. Five of them are backend staff, receptionist, secretary, IT support and two forensic specialists who do the autopsies and help us interpret on the spot evidence. That leaves only a little over a dozen officers to manage a town that is over thirty square miles, a population of seven thousand and nine hundred and an average of five thousand tourists and travelers passing through each day.”

“Aaand,” Sally Donovan chipped in, “We have been considered the best town in the category of non-industrialized clusters, population under ten thousand. We are the cleanest, safest and have one of the highest employment and literacy rate in England. We West Edeners are one of the higher per-capita income group too.”

“Naturally we have a _reputation_ to protect,” Phil Andersen added.

“Now you may wanna ask why they can’t increase the number of people at the station,” Jim cracked up with laughter and Sally and Phil, taken aback, quickly mumbled their goodbyes and rushed into their vehicle. Greg appreciated the joke and winked at Jim, “Always ready with a cutting edge response eh Jim? Well, the reason we aren’t more in number is because we have, for the past thirty five years, managed with these numbers. From the time my dad Gordon was the inspector to the time that I am.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, see you later……”

_A bloodcurdling howl somewhere in the distance made all three men jump slightly. Mycroft instantly grabbed at Jim’s arm in a protective gesture._

“What was that?” Greg wondered aloud.

“We don’t even have a zoo,” Jim said, looking into the rolling hills in the distance and the vast stretches of meadows dotted by woodlands and ponds on all sides, “The woods around this place are shallow and not really remote and untraversed, at the most they have a few foxes and deer, maybe an odd boar or three, the usual badgers and bats and beavers, but that’s about all. That howl didn’t sound like anything those animals can produce.”

“We will check,” Greg said, “Gotta go now.”

As soon as Greg and his party were gone, Jim jumped on Mycroft and dragged him into their car. It was a huge SUV that Mycroft drove, a Land Rover Discovery Sport, and when the front seats were flattened it more or less became a bed. “Oh fuck,” Mycroft moaned when Jim grabbed his through his pants, “We are still at the parking lot of the pub Jimmy!”

“And no one is parked around us,” Jim said, impatiently removing clothes, “If we are careful and quick, _no one_ will notice. It’s been almost a month, I _can’t wait_.”

“Well,” Mycroft raised his hips as Jim took him out and stroked him with a saliva slick hand, “Neither can I.” They kissed hard and Mycroft tried to access as much of Jim’s body as he could without stripping the man naked. He stroked, pinched, licked, kissed and bit him, marking his skin with several wine colored bruises. Jim began to moan too loudly and the older man had to kiss him into silence. Soon a tube of lube was pressed into Mycroft’s palm and when he looked curiously and with some amount of disbelief at Jim, the latter’s eyes glowed like burning coals in the darkness. “Yes, we will do the full thing here. I prepared myself with a dildo before we came to the pub so just slide it in baby!”

_When Mycroft slid inside he was sure even an earthquake happening around them wouldn’t be able to stop him now._

Surrounded by tight heat and the sheer sensuality that was Jim, the young attorney began to fuck him hard and fast. Their combined scents filled the vehicle with a heady, rich smell of male arousal and sex, their passion and frenzy rocked the heavy automobile back and forth. Jim scratched at Mycroft’s face and neck, totally beside himself with the need to cum. Mycroft knew those marks would remain later but right now he hardly cared. He loved it when his boyfriend went cuckoos on seeing him!

“Fuck,” Jim’s voice was tight as he stiffened up.

“Baby!”

“Yes, there, cumming!”

“Oh Jimmy….!!”

It was supposed to be a quickie and it sure was, but the results were blinding. Both men nearly lost their five senses as their orgasm shuddered through them and Jim punched the closed window a few times, head turning from side to side in ecstasy. His legs were in the air, his fingers digging into the older man’s skin, his pale skin flushed crimson as Mycroft heaved and moved over him.

For a few minutes they were knocked dizzy. Neither of them remembered what happened right after the orgasm but when they woke up they found themselves tangled together, sweat cooling on their bodies and their bodies still buzzing in afterglow.

Suddenly Jim sat up, scrambling around for whatever clothes he had taken off while trying to fix whatever was already on. Mycroft gave him a strange look, “Hey, what’s the matter? No one in the car park or anywhere around so…..”

“I just _remembered,_ ” Jim said, sounding a little too panicky, “My aunt Daphne gets really cranky if I am late and so does my housekeeper Bess, who also acts as her caregiver. These two women can be really annoying! If I haven’t informed them of my whereabouts or that I am coming home late, they freak out and start calling the whole world and its brother in law. They might even _call the cops on me_.” Mycroft suppressed his chuckle. He found this funny, if also slightly weird because Jim was twenty-two, the same age as Sherlock. “And I am assuming that tonight you forgot to tell them about staying out late. If they know I am with you I doubt if they’d be worried. They’ll be totally at ease…..”

“Please, drive me _home_ ,” Jim seemed unsettled.

“Jimmy, _you okay_?”

  
“Yeah, yeah, just drive me home please.”

“Alright, sure, okay, I’ll take you home _baby!”_

***

The tramp staggered out of his hutment to take a piss. He wanted to piss straight into the lake but he had been caught doing so a couple of times and Sergeant Donovan had given him two whacks and told him he’d be locked up if he did so again.

“Bloody damned broad,” he muttered as he pissed against a tree, “Always being such a…..” He thought he heard a sound. It was a footstep but a very heavy footstep. Certainly not that of a human being.

“Who goes there?” He called out loud, more to regain his courage than to be heard. It was so quiet and silent there that even a whisper was bound to be heard from a hundred meters away. He got no responses but soon he heard a series of tell-tale signs of someone’s presence close by. Twigs breaking, branches snapping, soil scattering, leaves rustling, pebbles getting crushed. _Yes, something big and heavy, something too big and heavy to be a human……_

“Oh sweet Jesus!”

He saw two glowing eyes between two tall shrubs. Unreal, unworldly eyes, eyes that would haunt him for the rest of his life….if he lived beyond this fateful night. He had tucked himself back in but forgot to zip up as he started to run towards his hutment at full speed. In a flash the noises behind him increased tenfold and he heard a growling sound that made his blood freeze.

_Then the noises stopped completely._

Something made the poor man stop and turn around. He saw nothing. Feeling relieved for a moment that he might have just dreamt it all, he was about to duck into his rickety dwelling when he felt something land on his head. It didn’t take him more than a few seconds to realize it was some form of saliva, most likely animal saliva or drool and it was coming from above so that thing had to be………. On the roof of his hutment. Breath catching at his throat he lifted his trembling eyes and blinked a few times. At first his eyes grew big and his mouth opened wide but no sounds came out, nor could he move his limbs as he watched his death come closer and closer, until he could smell its fiery breath.

***

_Sherlock jumped awake to the sound of a roar that ripped through the surroundings._

At the same time he saw someone sitting at the foot of his bed and almost kicked them away before he switched on the bedside lamp. “Eurus! What the fuck are you doing in my room?”

Eurus was a tall, athletic woman who had pale blue eyes and dark wavy chestnut hair. Though not as beautiful or handsome as Sherlock nor as regal and elegant as Mycroft, she was an attractive woman with her own charm. But the best thing about her was that she too was a brilliant person in her own way, in her own right, Sherlock had to admit to that _. If only she was not such a nosy, pesky and thoroughly annoying sister._ “Felt as if something bad was about to happen,” she spoke suddenly, in a weirdly nasal voice, “To you.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Sherlock no….”

“Eurus…what….???”

“NOOOOOOOO!!!”

The door burst open and in walked Mycroft. In a flash he had turned the lights on and was pulling Eurus back from Sherlock. The young woman was clutching at Sherlock as if trying to pull him away from some unseen force. “What’s wrong with her?” Sherlock asked, shaken.

Mycroft was unprepared to answer that and _when he did_ , he sounded _evasive._ “ _Nothing_. She’s a bit disturbed, must be a bad dream or something. I’ll take her to her room. Go back to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eurus is not crazy here but she does have a gift. She can sense danger.


	3. Investigations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the town reels from the shock and the police investigate the sudden murder, Sherlock mentions about some ominous noises overheard in the woods before by a neighbor.

“James,” Eugenia gave the Irishman a tight hug, kissed his cheeks and then ruffled his hairs slightly, “It’s so good to see you. How have you been? Why didn’t you come over for dinner last night….oh, I am sorry, you needed to meet your boyfriend alone, didn’t you?”

“Forgive her,” Reginald snickered, “She likes a big, full nest with all her children around her. Since Eurus will be leaving soon and setting up her own house, she wants at least one of the sons married and the son in law to be living under her roof.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and was about to end the conversation then and there when Jim made a surprising statement. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind living here,” he said in a voice that didn’t seem the least bit hesitant or jocular, he sounded dead serious, “This house is huge and you have ten bedrooms. We can all live here without getting into each other’s spaces. Or we could live in the outhouse there, I always liked it. Even when uncle Stoddart was here and Mike and I visited him I used to eye that cottage. A nice patio, a plunge pool, two hammocks in the backyard, living room and kitchen and home office on the ground floor, two bedrooms on the first floor and an attic studio which could become a workspace for me. Incredibly convenient and neat.”

“Are you serious?” Mycroft asked, puzzled.

“Mmmm, yeah, seems I am.”

“But then…what about our house in London?”

“For occasional visits.”

  
“And the farm we wanted to buy here?”

“We can buy the homestead across the lake. The couple who live on it are looking for a buyer. I know them. It will be a steal.”

Sherlock snickered audibly and he and Jim exchanged a high-five. Mycroft was about to open his mouth and object when Eugenia stopped him, “There’s nothing wrong with him wanting to stay close by. Anyways, these are only ideas as of now. We shall cross the bridge when the right time comes. So, will you be eating breakfast with us Jim?” 

“No, I had something back home,” Jim said, “I’m here to pick up both Sherlock and Mike, we were supposed to go to the stores to pick up a top of the line microscope for Sherly and Mike was going to meet a client whose office is on the same street as the store.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Sherlock got up, leaving half his breakfast behind.

“Where’s Eurus?” Jim asked as they walked out on to the porch, “Didn’t see her.”

“She’s having one of her mad-mad fits,” Sherlock snickered aloud, skipping down the steps of the porch. Mycroft reddened and immediately pinched his brother’s arm, which made him worsen the situation overall as he tactlessly snapped at his elder sibling, “Why the fuck would you do that huh? Why are you pinching me? I won’t stand for any bullying, not anymore Mikey. I am a grown man now, okay?”

“If you insist,” Mycroft huffed, trying not to put Sherlock on his knee and spank the shit out of him. He looked at his boyfriend and said, “Oh well, she sleepwalks. I told you, right?”

“Yeah you did and I told you she needs help if she _sleepwalks that often_ ,” Jim whispered as he saw Sherlock getting into his Jeep Grand Cherokee but pausing on the way to stamp upon a nice little ladybug that was scuttling over the cobbled surface of the driveway. Mycroft noticed that too and was about to say something when Jim grabbed at his sleeve and tugged. “He does too,” he added in a lower whisper so only Mycroft could hear, “I don’t mean to be rude but once we’re married and I start living here I am going to fix a few things around your house and family. Two of those ‘fixes’ would have to be your siblings. No nonsensical, freakish and juvenile behavior in the house, that won’t be tolerated.”

Mycroft sighed, “Do we have to live here?”

  
“Yeah. Look, I like your parents and this is my only chance of having a family around me.”

Mycroft nodded, realizing that was the untold truth of Jim’s life. Having lost his folks at age twelve, he had inherited a sizeable estate from them and tons of loneliness and solitude. Being the only child all the family he had was an eccentric and mentally ill aunt who kept moving between normalcy and mania and Jim had to be packed off to boarding school to avoid getting bruised by her ‘less than pleasant’ phases.

“Sure thing baby,” he said, kissing his temple, “We will fix things together. At the end of the day we are helping, right?”

“Right said.”

They got into the car and Jim drove them out of the property, only to nearly ram into a police vehicle that came speeding down the pathway that connected the highway to the lake and the woods beyond. Jim braked hard and swerved the car just in time to avoid a collision while the police vehicle also swerved similarly and narrowly avoided crashing into a tree before coming to a halt right in front of the cottage that stood opposite to the Glenn Manor gate.

Mrs. Hudson came running out, looking rather concerned.

“Hello, what’s the matter? Oh is that you Greg? Are you all right? Oh those boys….hello, boys are you okay?”

Sherlock stuck his head out of the window and yelled, “Yeah, as okay as we can be with the cops here hurtling around like out-of-control missiles. Jesus, we were on a blind turn but you could see the way couldn’t you?”

Greg Lestrade came out of the car, as did Sally Donovan. She snarled at Sherlock, “If you gave this situation a deeper thought you’d perhaps realize that we were not exactly driving around for fun or to visit a buddy for a beer. There has been a murder close by and we were rushing to the spot to investigate. Understand that, freak?”

“Hey, hold it you two,” Mycroft emerged from the car, frowning and, for a change, taking Sherlock’s side, “We didn’t know where you were speeding off to so no need to call my brother any names. Yes, I appreciate the rush and the situation you are in but that is your job Ms. Donovan and I am sure you don’t want to cause more deaths en route to a destination to investigate one murder.” This stern rebuke made Sally a bit more respectful towards Sherlock and she nodded towards Mycroft in acknowledgement; but she didn’t offer a ‘sorry’ or any form of apology to Sherlock. In the meantime Greg quickly joined them and toned things down with his mature approach. 

“It’s the first murder in what….six years! The last one that happened was a pub brawl and manslaughter. Committed by a non-towner. This one however…..”

He paused and Mrs. Hudson grabbed his arm, “Greg, is it really a murder or an accident?”

“From what Phil and the rest of the people on the ground told me, it’s not only a murder but a very brutal one. The victim is the tramp who lived there, in the woods, close to the homestead property of Mr. and Mrs. Smallwood. We had warned him several times to leave and go to the town shelter but he knew he’d be stopped from doing drugs there, hence he never listened to us. It seems someone ripped through him.”

“I saw him last evening,” Sherlock said, sounding a bit excited, “Can I come along with you?”

Greg flinched. Sally Donovan’s eyes widened. Jim did a facepalm and looked away while Mycroft quickly did some damage control. “Sherlock is doing a thesis on forensic sciences, especially anything related to a crime scene. His interest is purely academic. Can we actually take a look? Even I have an interest in this, as a lawyer.”

“I do not see why not,” Greg said, already getting back into the car, “Donovan, get in quickly. We must be on our way. Mike, you can follow my car but please, once there you should not touch anything or get in our way. Also, let me remind you it won’t be a pleasant sight. It’s quite a violent and gory crime.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not sissies,” Sherlock said, “Let’s go.”

As they traversed down that path, went past the house of the Stamfords and down the lakeside till the first bridge, which was the footbridge. “One part of his body was found here,” Donovan pointed at two cops standing there, one of them marking a spot. “One part,” Greg Lestrade repeated, “Christ, what a mess!”

“Don’t you find something very suspicious and uncanny?” Sally asked, to which Greg gave her a confused look. “What do you mean by that? What is suspicious?”

The curly haired cop shrugged and looked behind, at Mycroft’s car that was following them. She seemed pretty annoyed, “Honestly speaking, that freak in that car really gives me the creeps. Did you see how excited he was to learn that a murder has happened close by. Usually people are sad or scared, but have you seen anyone so thrilled that someone has been actually killed, that too in such a horrid fashion! Whoa! It was such a sadistic thing to do, like he was happy that he got a chance to….actually, come to think of it, they come in last noon and the same night this fellow is murdered. The freak even admits he had seen the tramp last evening so technically he was the last person to see him alive.”

“What are you implying Sally?”

“He seems like a sociopath and…..”

“Stop. We cannot speculate. Not on matters like murder.”

“But boss….”

“We cannot let our personal prejudices affect our judgement. I know that boy for years. Yes, he is a bit weird but he is definitely not what you think he is. Coincidences cannot be the base of our suspicions and deductions. Remember, this is no ordinary crime but premeditated murder, if indicted and tried and sentenced then the killer will get the chair or lifetime in prison with no parole allowed. I suggest you stop shooting arrows in the dark.”

She was not too convinced but DI Lestrade was always respected and listened to, hence she said a soft ‘Sure boss’ and kept quiet.

They reached the spot soon and even before the car had stopped properly, they saw how Sherlock galloped to look at the body. Sally didn’t say anything but she had the ‘I am vindicated’ look on her face. Greg ignored her and focused on his work.

It was indeed a horrible sight.

“What is going on?” Mr. Smallwood asked, “This happened seven hundred meters from my house. We should know.”

“We are looking into this Mr. Smallwood,” Greg Lestrade assured him. The body had been put into a bag by then but the three men, Mycroft, Jim and Sherlock, had seen a glimpse of it before that and it was not pretty. “Seems like someone attacked him with a sharp object and repeatedly ripped through his skin, sinew and bones,” Mycroft murmured, “Hit him so hard on the head that the back of the skull is smashed. Part of one hand was severed and somehow landed on the footbridge. This is no ordinary murder, this seems like a psychopath.”

“Well, if he comes around again he will face my wrath and he loaded end of my gun,” roared Mr. Smallwood, shaking his head, “Greg, what’s going on?”

“We should look for motive,” Jim commented, “But don’t be surprised if you don’t find any. This guy wasn’t someone well-known, so getting any backstory will be very tough.” Greg was about to say something to that when Sherlock butted in, “People sometimes kill for sport and the motive there is mostly just that…. their own ‘amusement’. The way this killing was done, it seems someone took perverse and extreme pleasure in committing the crime. This fellow was taking a piss, then he was chased, from there to that place, see the tracks…..the attacker tried to hide the prints later by dragging something like a stone or boulder over it, leveling the footprints completely.”

“So someone very strong then,” Jim said.

“Yeah. Exceptionally strong.”

“Big built?” Greg asked.

“Sometimes even slim, small built people possess superhuman strength,” Jim said, “It’s a fact that strength isn’t directly proportionate to the bulk, muscle or inches on a man or woman.”

“Come on,” Mycroft said, “We should be on our way. Let them do their job.”

Suddenly they saw Sherlock speaking to Mrs. Smallwood. They hadn’t noticed her join the group quietly. “Sherlock,” Mycroft called out, “Come on.” Sherlock raised his hand in acknowledgement and quickly wrapped up the conversation.

On their way back into town, Jim suddenly asked, “What was the old goose asking you? By the way, that couple is supposed to be very strange huh? They are the only ones who live on that side of the lake and people call them ‘The others’. They hardly ever visit the town or participate in community activities, hardly ever mingle with anyone, they usually get someone to deliver their groceries and medicines to them. Most of the food they consume comes from their homestead. Aside from their live-in nurse and two farm hands, the only person who ever visits them is Mrs. Hudson.”

“And she told me that she informed Mrs. Hudson, her only friend, a couple of days ago that she had heard growling noises in the woods,” Sherlock said, putting a new spin on the whole thing.


	4. Maybe a wild animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock: 'How come no one knows about this place?'
> 
> John: 'Because this is mine.'

Sherlock was walking back from the highway to the property, a distance of half a mile. He didn’t want to wait for Jim or Mycroft to finish their work and ride back with them, so he had taken a cab. But the cabbie was not willing to get off the highway and into a detour. “Some murder happened there,” he said, looking so scared that one would be forgiven for thinking the murderer was out for this particular cabbie’s life, “I am not going there sir.”

So Sherlock paid the fare and started walking.

He stopped in the woods and took out a cigarette. He was a bit tense, a bit high strung. That murder had caused him to think through several things, including that moment when he’d seen the tramp the evening before. The man had spotted him and scurried away like a rabbit, showing tremendous knowledge and familiarity with those parts. Sherlock wondered for a moment why that man, who had made that woodland his home for many months, could be taken by surprise and killed in such a manner. While the idea of a murder interested him and drew him towards the details, he was also acutely aware that the dangers associated with such a murder could affect him and his family as well. It had happened very close to his own house after all.

A lighter was held before him and he lit the cigarette, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!”

“YOU!”

“Watch out, you were about to drop the cigarette.”

Sherlock felt a strange thrill, almost double of what he had felt when he had heard of the murder earlier that day, at the sight of the priest….no, his name was John, John Watson. Truth was that this man had never left his thoughts for the past day and night. Never had a stranger cast such a spell on him. Sherlock had usually prided himself on staying detached and being cold and unruffled towards people. Heck, he was like that even towards his own family.

But this man had arrived and upset the applecart.

“Hi….” He said with a smile.

“Good to see you,” John said with an equally warm smile.

“What…what are you doing here….?”

“I could ask you the same. I was just passing by and I wished I could meet you. Voila, the Lord just placed you in my path.”

Sherlock felt his heart leap in his chest. John was in his ‘civvies’, a pair of light blue jeans and a dark green T shirt on top. With his hairs casually rumpled and a friendly grin on his face, the sunlight streaming down on him like a ‘blessing’ from above, he looked young and fresh and very, very gorgeous. His eyes were sparkling pools of chocolate and his features had softer contours than the usual angular sharpness he saw in people. It made John appear approachable, kind, interesting!

“You done looking?” John asked with a wink.

Sherlock blushed and looked away, eyes lowered and his heart thumping in his chest with an untold delight and vigor. The murder, that nasty bitch Donovan, his anger at being brought to a small town, the boredom he anticipated there and every other thought had left his mind by then, replaced by only John and his desire for the man. How badly he wanted him and that too less than twenty four hours after meeting him. Sherlock had never learned to be diplomatic and hiding his feelings wasn’t his strongest forte. Before he realized it he had blurted out a few words to the handsome priest. “John, how about you and I have lunch tomorrow? I know this really nice place…I mean I saw it today and wanted to eat there, but it didn’t seem any fun doing that alone.”

“Date?”

“You could call it a ‘getting to know each other better’ thing.”

“That sounds like a date to me.”

“Episcopalian clergy can…..”

John’s eyes narrowed, a lopsided grin on his face as he peered into Sherlock’s face. “They can what? You do know that unmarried priests cannot marry, right?”

“I-I wasn’t talking about marriage, I was only…..”

“Luckily I am not ordained yet.”

“Oh thank God….no, no, I mean, thank God you are not….no, forget what I just said,” Sherlock mumbled, wishing he could disappear. John’s eyes never left him and his bemused grin grew wider as Sherlock backed off till his back hit the tree trunk. John moved closer till their bodies were almost touching, their breaths nearly mingling, their body heat buffeting off each other.

“I am, what they call, exploring,” John said, “Left one church whose ways I disagreed with and moved towards one which is better suited to my values and principles. I am on the fringes but not in the core group yet. I can still marry and still get ordained, not have to give up my family.”

“I….uh….so then tomorrow? Where should we meet? The church? Is that where you are staying or do you have any other address?”

John nodded and smiled, “Yes, tomorrow is fine. As for my address, don’t worry about that. You don’t have to go looking for me. We will meet tomorrow, right here, beneath this sign post, at 1 am sharp. And if you are game we can even go watch a movie!”

***

“Maybe it was a wild animal or something,” argued Andersen, “See, the forensic reports and several other evidence we found says it might have been an animal, not a human being. Even the second opinion we took from the technician who had arrived from London seems to favor this conclusion. Now you may say there are no such wild animals around these parts which could maul someone to death like that but I say there might be one. Do you remember the huge dog owned by the Smallwood’s? How about that canine? Maybe it got a bit bad when the tramp teased him and decided to attack. After all it’s an animal.” 

“Animals have fewer reasons to kill than humans and the human mind is far more complex and cruel than the animal’s,” Donovan said, “This is the handiwork of a man. I smell a human brain and atrocity behind this heinous act.”

Greg Lestrade looked at the town’s mayor, Lord Edwin, an aristocrat who harbored higher political ambitions. Lord Edwin was listening quietly and intently but had given no inputs of his own. The detective inspector said, “So Mr. Mayor, from what we have so far this is an isolated incident and while we will definitely tighten the security and vigilance around the town, especially the woodland and the lakeside, we do not see any reason to impose any restrictions on anyone. In the meantime, we will need your help to write a letter to the Yard and summon some officers, just in case we need extra hands and help.”

“I would be more comfortable if we found out the exact cause of death and who, if anyone, was behind it,” said Lord Edwin, “After that, based on facts proved and put on the table, we can relax and continue to live in peace in our wonderful town. Imagine, if this is indeed a psycho?”

“It could have been someone who was passing by. In this town we know practically everyone. We looked through all our files, profiles of our community members, there’s not a single one we can really suspect. Mostly folks who have been around these parts for a long, long time.”

“What if one of them lost his marbles, suddenly?”

“Well, we will continue to try our best.”

“My re-election isn’t until another year. Otherwise this might have ruined it all for me.”

At that point Greg, Sally and Phil lost all respect for the man and wrapped up the meeting as quickly as they could. When the man left, Greg snorted, “He was supposed to help only on one thing – calling some officers from Scotland Yard. I worked there, I know some pretty good people there. But no, there he says, ‘It’s not necessary, let’s not create a big hoo-ha over this’. He just wants to shush the whole matter up.”

“Politicians,” Phil Andersen huffed, shaking his head. Sally echoed the same sentiments and murmured an expletive under her breath before adding, “It’s all about him and his political career, isn’t it?”

***

Indeed people forgot about the murder quickly. The victim was a tramp after all, a druggie on top of that, a man who was not liked, trusted or welcomed into their folds by anyone in town. With no one to protest about the lack of progress on this case or insist on the killer being caught etc, the ball was dropped fairly soon. Some were in fact glad the town was rid of him while some felt sorry about the way he had to go but not the fact that he had been killed. Kinder hearts wept for him but only for a couple of days before more pressing matters distracted them and this became a ‘last week’s news’ for the townsfolk as well as the local magazine, television channel and newspaper.

During this week, Sherlock and John became very close.

The lunch had turned out to be an awesome one and Sherlock found John to be an amazing man. His attractive and suave looks were not even top ten in terms of his qualities. He was well-read and articulate, had a great sense of humor and wit, he was energetic and enthusiastic and shared some common interests with Sherlock. One of them was their mutual love for Italian food, their interests in art history and a fondness for swimming and hiking. So, a week after they had first met, they went hiking up the hills and John got him to a nice secluded spot where an almost crystalline pond was revealed.

“Beautiful,” Sherlock murmured, “Look at the water, so clean and clear one can see the bottom, almost. The place is perfect, so private and quiet and amazing. It’s shielded on all sides by trees, low hills, boulders. How come no one knows about this place?”

“Because this is mine,” John said as he started to take off his clothes, “Now it’s ours, of course. Fancy a dip?”

Sherlock’s green blue eyes shone, “You mean we can?”

“Yes for sure we can.”

“But I don’t have anything…..”

“I have a blanket, two towels, water, hot coffee, sandwiches and even two inflatable pillows. In other words we have everything we need to go for a swim, dry ourselves up and relax in the sun later, munch and nibble and drink while we are at it and even take a wee nap if we wish.”

“But we do not have swim trunks,” Sherlock argued, “I don’t know if you brought one for yourself but I don’t have one, for sure.”

His breath was knocked out of him in a whoosh as he saw John standing there, naked. “Who says we need swim trunks?” Asked the naughty priest as Sherlock gasped like a fish out of water. He had stiffened so fast he was in serious danger of cumming in his pants right now. His eyes drank in the sight of John standing there, his skin smooth and unlined and his compact frame packed with muscles. He was athletic, strong and there were a few scars here and there that showed a colorful past that was hardly the stuff ordinary and regular people had. A knife fight, taser mark, even toothmarks. But what was truly remarkable was the size and girth of his cock. Heavy and long, with sizeable balls, he was well hung and uncut, the thatch of light brown pubic hair trimmed neatly.

He was attractive with clothes on but with those off he was simply breathtaking.

“C’mon,” John said huskily, “Let’s see how God made you. We’re creatures of God, aren’t we?”

There was nothing Sherlock could refuse at that point to John and soon he dropped his clothes, standing as naked as the other man, flushed pink all over and biting down on his bottom lip. The look of appraisal in his eyes was mirrored by a similar look of admiration in John’s and Sherlock felt both proud and relieved. He felt validated in some way!

“C’mon,” John grabbed him, “In we go!”

The water was at the right temperature and the two men dove in, squealing and thrashing and laughing. Soon Sherlock even forgot they were in a public place, the open outdoors, and anyone could drop by. Because people usually didn’t flock here didn’t mean no one could pass by.

But he hardly cared.

After a good long swim John grabbed his ankle and dragged him under, making him surface a little later spluttering and choking. The two of them pushed and pulled and jostled in the water before a sudden maneuver made them come so close that going back was impossible after that.

Sherlock was panting severely, both from lust and fear. He had never done this before, he was a virgin and somehow the idea of being penetrated was scary for him. But despite that he longed to have John inside him, with that impressive package.

Realizing that Sherlock wouldn’t take the first step, John pulled him closer and clasped his face in both his hands. A few seconds passed and then, before they knew it, they were kissing.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a happy ending. Has some elements of existing werewolf stories, the Fleabag universe (note: Hot priest like character), comedy and also horror elements combined.


End file.
